Psychosis By Proxy
by Mej Cat
Summary: A side fiction to Psychosis. Everyone is a little broken...
1. Chapter 1

**The first chapter to the side fic to Psychosis. I hope it turned out okay, I'm a little iffy. Anywho, enjoy, and remember, all canon Naruto characters are Masashi Kishimoto's!**

**P.S Most of these are going to have a moral, courtesy of moi! Enjoy.**

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**Psychosis by Proxy**

**Proximity 1: Cutting Class**

"How are you?" asked Kakashi, pleasantly. He leaned back a bit in his chair, the notebook he held concealing the lower half of his face. A scarf poofed up in a small hill, just peeking out behind the spiraled book.

Enma uncrossed, then recrossed his arms. "Don't know." it came out curt. He didn't mean for it to be so curt. He furrowed his brow, frowned, and decided he liked his arms better the other way.

"Anything new?" he asked, eyes flicking almost imperceptibly to the boys abused arms. Enma shrugged and bit his lip, as if fighting back a smile.

"I cut class today." he said it with a wry little smirk. Kakashi's eyebrow lifted slightly. "I mean... I cut class to cut myself." The boy feigned a rim shot with two pencils he'd had tucked behind his ear. Enma was acting a bit strange today. He wasn't usually this chatty. Or happy.

_One thing at a time, _he told himself.

"Do you want to show me?" Enma shook his head, the amusement disappearing from his eyes. "Why not?"

"Why should I show you anything?" he leaned forward, pressing his elbows against his knees and peering up at the counselor from under his dark hair. When he was angry, a very hard and jaded look would appear in his dark eyes.

"You don't have to." Kakashi countered, his voice reasonable and calm. "I'd rather you did."

"Why?" Enma's tongue flicked harshly against one of his piercings. The black loop lifted and pulled against his lip then settled back into place.

"So I can understand." Kakashi set down his papers and leaned forward, the lower half of his face cradled in his hands. "Aside from the fact that you're doing it, I have no idea why you've decided to continue this... compulsion." He spoke with an irritatingly _fatherly _concern. Enma looked out the window pointedly, his face flushing slightly.

"I mean, I can't help you if I can't pinpoint the cause." Enma snorted, tossing his head contemptuously.

"I never asked for your help."

"No, but your mother did." Enma fell silent, his mouth set in a line. He always reacted that way at the mention of his mother. That issue really needed addressing, but with Enma, every session was a regression into a thick calloused shell. Every issue would then, rather than be addressed, remain stressed and quickly repossess complete control of the brooding young man.

Enma refused to meet his gaze. "Just answer one question for me." Enma's eyebrow quirked, but he refused to look at him.

"Why do you do it?" Kakashi shifted slightly, one hand dropping to his desk to tap the polished surface. "Is it because you need to? Is it for attention? Is it-"

"It's not!' the boy erupted, his words coming out harshly. That brassy hardness had resurfaced and his fingers had quite suddenly dug into his knees. They were turning white, the strain causing a deep X shaped scar across his knuckles to stand out quite vividly. "It's not... for attention."

Kakashi leaned back again, examining Enma through his light gray eyes. One of them was a bit misty and unfocused, as though it didn't work quite right. "Are you sure?" Enma gave a little growl and slammed his bag on the floor. He dug around until he found his large sketchpad.

The rough, stiff pages gave a strange warbling sound as he ripped them from the sack and tossed them much too hard onto Kakashi's desk.

"Take a good look at those, and tell me if I fucking do this shit for attention." Kakashi opened the cover and examined the drawings. Each one was very nicely crafted, some realistic, and some comic strips. The comics had rather dark punch lines.

"These are very nice, but I don't understand what they prove."

Enma sat still, thinking. "I draw." he said simply, as if that was all he could say. "People know me for my artwork. Everyone at school knows. That I draw."

"Does everyone know that you cut?"

"No... well. Yes. They do." Enma shrugged. "It isn't possible to hide them all. I wouldn't be here if it was." Kakashi nodded, noticing a drawing of another charge of his. Lotus Koorine, the bulimic, before the drastic weight loss.

"But... just because they know that, it isn't the first thing they associate me with." Enma had sat straighter and his voice had become much more animated. "I make sure of it. I've won at least 10 art competitions at a regional and state level."

"Oh?" Enma nodded, emphatic.

"Yes. My certificates are hung in the highschool trophy case, next to the paintings that won them. That's the attention I want."

"So why the cutting?"

"I..." Enma leaned back, wondering why he'd finally cracked and spilled his guts to this damned councelor. This whole conversation would make it back to his mother and he'd be forced through another lecture, another empty threat, another failed attempt at "I love you". Why was it so hard to just say _that_?

"I love you, Enma." he had imagined hearing those words for so long. But they never came. "Ungrateful, smart ass, unattractive" now he was used to those words. He'd cut those words somewhere into the lattice of scars.

"I don't know." but he did. He just didn't know how to say it.

Maybe he'd try to stop cutting English.

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**So... lame jokes, for the win. This wasn't supposed to be the first chapter to this "Side fiction" but I felt more inspired to write this scenario than the other one. Maybe I'll post both. I don't know. **

**This is my view on the issue of cutting. Some people do it for attention, true, but not everyone does. There are a great many people who cut without intention of letting their disease be their identity.**

**I hope you can see a bit more clearly into Enma's psyche. It's true that he's a smart ass and a real dick. However, he is that way for a reason, and he never planned to turn out that way. That being said, his punishment in Psychosis will be quite severe. He has no excuse for his actions.**

**Just know that he's human too. TwT**


	2. Turnabout

I do not own Naruto. None of my OC's are in this chapter, buy I own them anyway. Enjoy these canon dudes, yo.

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Turnabout

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In the beginning, Kankuro had hated, hated, hated his little brother. He had held every conceivable inch of the child in what could only be described as contempt. Beyond contempt, even. It went far enough that Kankuro would not remain in the same room as him.

He had never really had a reason. To this day, he could not diagnose what had stirred up such negative feelings for someone who he held so dearly now.

What made it worse was that the abhorred little creature was fully aware that he was disliked by his older brother. He realized that every morning when he tripped into the kitchen for breakfast, that his big brother would march determinedly over to the sink, dump out whatever he had been eating and drop the dish in the sink. Then he'd dart off to almost anywhere else in the house. So long as their Dad wasn't there.

Things probably would have remained that way too had it not been for Temari.

"He hasn't done anything wrong, y'know." She had planted herself in his doorway and was staring a hole through the book he was pretending to study for school tomorrow.

"He was born." Kankuro remarked in an uncaring and offhanded sort of voice. "That's something." There were footsteps and suddenly the book was removed from his head and slammed into the top of his head.

"Ow!"

"That was mean." She chucked the book across the floor and bent at the hips like a rigid doll. Her arms were ramrod straight at either side and her fists were tensed so that the veins stood out on her skinny arms. "You are his big brother."

"Don't remind me." he rubbed his head carefully, noting that the ache had begun to tingle and itch.

"Shut up. You're his big brother. Act like it."

"Oh, please. He doesn't even talk to me." Kankuro knew that was a shitty thing to say. Gaara had asked him how school had been every day since he could speak and he'd always shrugged him off. There would always be a strange moment where the boy tipped his head to the side and stared just past Kankuro's head.

"I guess... he can't hear us. Maybe tomorrow." he would murmur and scampered off to hide before Daddy came home.

"He talks about you to me." Temari's voice sounded strange now. It almost sounded... shaky. Like she was going to cry. "About how he doesn't know what he did to make you mad." Kankuro avoided looking at her.

"And how... it's okay if you don't like him." Temari raked her hands just under her eyes to catch the faint shimmer of unshed tears attempting to escape her furious eyes. "Because he knows something's _wrong with him." _

Kankuro played with a tear in his jeans for a minute. "What do you want me to do?" he hated to see his sister cry.

"He's in his room. Go play with him." She saw the look on her brother's face and scowled. "If you don't, I swear to God I will never speak to you again." Kankuro looked at her skeptically.

"Don't believe me?" He was in dangerous territory now. He knew that she'd talk to him eventually. But it might be a year or so before she cracked and he couldn't handle that.

"Fine." He heaved himself up off the bed and slouched off. He dragged his feet as he trudged up the stairs to the tiny little room that Gaara slept in. He sighed heavily as he paused outside. There was talking.

"Do you love me?" There was a strange sound and unsteady footsteps made their way to the door, which flew open and grazed Kankuro's nose. His dad stared down at him.

"Make sure he doesn't leave." Kankuro stared strangely at him, and walked into the room. The little boy was sitting in the exact center of a large, round rug. It was yellow with bright red polkadots all over it.

"Hello." said Kankuro awkwardly. God, why was he doing this? Gaara flinched slightly and tipped his chin downwards. He tapped his tiny little fists against the floor. Twice with the right, twice with the left.

"Hey, Gaara, I'm talking to you." _Right, right, left, left. Right, right, left, left._

"What are you doing, weirdo?" _Right, right, left, left._

He was about to give up and leave when the sound of a small voice spoke up. "Daddy's mad at me." He peeked up at him through his hair. "Just like you."

Kankuro felt a twinge of guilt in his stomach. "I'm... not mad at you." The little boy's eyes were skeptical, but he shrugged and continued to tap his curled fingers against the rug.

"That's good." Kankuro came and sat down beside him, in spite of the uneasy feeling he had. There was a dirty box of dillapidated crayons sitting next to him. He had been scrawling a picture on a piece of notebook paper.

There was a tall, warped figure with long fingers and sharp teeth. It had black eyes and blue spirals on it's lopsided face. "What's this?" he asked, trying to sound interested.

"My friend. Shukaku. He visits me at night." Kankuro nodded and listened to the argument going on downstairs. He couldn't tell if Temari or his mother was yelling at his dad. Whoever it was, they were clearly losing.

The footsteps were returning and Kankuro had a strange feeling that something bad was going to happen.

He stood up and began to move away from his little brother as his father neared the doorway. "What? You're still here?"

Gaara glanced over at Kankuro, decided that the question was for him. "Well... Yeah. I mean... you asked me to stay."

His dad continued to stare. "Get out." Kankuro hesitated, catching a glimpse of a wooden handle in his father's hand.

"I said get out."

"Why?" asked Kankuro, eyes flicking from the closed hand, to his father's face, to Gaara sitting on the floor not looking at anyone.

His father moved as if to strike him and Kankuro shut his eyes, turning his head. He waited for the smack but it wasn't coming...

_Smack! _

The sting wasn't there but he'd heard it. He opened his eyes and there was Gaara right in front of him and tilting dangerously to the side. Kankuro reached out and grabbed him, straightening him up so that he didn't fall over. The boy clung to his brother's hand, scared in spite of his rather brave and reckless action.

Kankuro's father stood silent and shocked for only a moment, before he grabbed the older son's wrist and twisted it out of Gaara's tenuous grip. He shoved him out the door and slammed it in his face. There was an ominous click as the lock slid into place.

"Gaara?!" Kankuro pounded on the door hearing muffled conversation continuing. There was a loud thud, as if someone were being slammed into the wall. Behind the thump there was a young whimper.

Silence... silence... silence...

The door flew open and Kankuro landed firmly on his face, and he felt his teeth clench on his lower lip. He tasted iron.

"All the love you need." Kankuro felt himself kicked and covered his head with his arms while the tyrant marched over him. He waited until he heard a door slam somewhere and then he picked himself up and darted into Gaara's room, hand pressing against the hole in his lip.

Gaara was sitting back in his initial position on the rug, looking down and shaking. "What did he do?" asked Kankuro, sliding in front of his little brother.

He shrugged.

"Come on, Gaara, what happened?" He tipped the boy's chin up, feeling something sticky against his fingers. Gaara stared out at him from underneath a curtain of blood.

"Oh, God." Kankuro picked him up and pulled him into the nearest bathroom, running the faucet and slamming through cabinets for a washcloth. He found one, finally and pressed it to his little brother's head.

"I'm so sorry, Gaara." whispered Kankuro, eyes falling onto the red welt from the blow intended for him. "Thanks... for back there."

Gaara didn't seem to hear him, but he started to kick his legs against the cabinet.

_Right, right, left, left, right, right, left, left, right, right, left, left_

Kankuro smiled slightly. He tapped his fingers against his little brother's unnaturally red hair.

_Index, index, middle, middle, index, index, middle, middle, index, index, middle, middle_

Gaara smiled a little, the visage a little creepy with all the blood on his pale face and his dark, insomnia decorated eyes.

When the blood finally clotted and he could take the stiff, now rust colored towel from his face he leaned forward and let his head fall against Kankuro's chest.

"I'll protect you. Always." whispered Kankuro, holding onto the small creature he had once abhorred until finally, the child fell asleep tiny fingers wrapped in the dark fabric of his shirt.

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Hope you liked this brother fluff moment. Please read and review.


	3. In Contrast to Nothing

**In contrast to Nothing**

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Lotus could hear Gaara walk into the bathroom. She could feel him watch her while she scrutinized every jagged edge of her bony body and she could feel the curiosity pouring from him in waves.

"What are you looking for?" he asked, walking up behind her and setting his chin on her shoulder. She shrugged, feeling the sharp angle of her shoulder-blade rub up against his chest. She never knew what she was looking for. Well, she did, but she pretended not to. Knowing meant explaining and that meant dwelling on it. You would be surprised at how easy it was to justify subsisting when it really came back to ignorance and ease: Best to ignore the numbers, ignore the symptoms, ignore the mechanics of life.

She supposed she wanted to see purity, and something super human. Something that overrode the basic need for trivial matters like food, something even beyond the imperfect cage of a human body. She hated her body.

By this point, she knew that her skeletal appearance was unnerving. It wasn't pretty far from it. Everything feminine about her had been sapped away and made unrecognizable. Perhaps the most concerning to her, she had noticed how much more difficult singing had been. As she forced herself to stop, her voice was coming back: she had placed her long fingers on piano keys as of late, rather than down the back of her swollen throat.

But it had been a very long time since the sharp points of her hips had been masked by the feminine softness of adolescence. She wasn't an hourglass, more like... two barbed wire triangles. What would it even look like? It could be even worse than this sharp array of angles and points that Gaara somehow managed to hug and hold. She was certain that every time he moved he was trying to squirm away from the harsh, unforgiving contact and she would try to move away too, but he'd hold on tighter.

Gaara ran one hand down her arm and traced the crescent shaped scars that marred the top of her hand. You'd be surprised how sharp your teeth could feel when you attempted to override your gag reflex. She leaned her head back, watching his fingers cover the blemishes.

"What are you looking for?" he repeated, softer this time, turning his misty green eyes on hers to search for his answer. It was unnerving how well he could read her at times.

"Nothing." she whispered, pressing one hand to her apparent rib cage. She wanted nothingness. She wanted to be so small, that her body vanished. There would be no waste, she wouldn't be a mouldering heap in the ground. Something as light as air and as translucent as glass. She had hoped and worked and polished away at herself but she remained as clouded as quarts.

Crystalline and perfect and unclouded: That goal was unattainable, but she hoped.

"I'm looking for nothing." she repeated, wondering if Gaara would understand. He had a fairly abstract way of thinking at times. He pondered her question in silence, pressing a little kiss to her shoulder.

"You'll always be something." he mused. "An energy, a voice, a memory." He closed his eyes slowly, his insomnia becoming apparent. "Is that a bad thing?"

She shrugged. Being something left room for error and it gave others reason to form opinions. There was no way to escape existence. Gaara turned her around and pressed his forehead to hers, leaning forward a bit.

"Do you know what you are to me?" he asked, raspy voice barely above a whisper. She shook her head slightly, one hand still pressed to her abdomen. He slipped his hand under hers and ran it up to where her heart lay.

"You are nothing less than everything." he smiled, lightly. She smiled back and closed her eyes.

"Thanks." she murmured, swallowing and feeling the warmth of his hand against her heart.

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**Wow, you could stuff a pillow with all that fluff. There was a really good book I read called "Wasted: A Memoir of Anorexia and Bulimia" by Maria Hornbacher. It's a really enlightening view into the mind of someone with an eating disorder. Really, it is. I loved every page and I learned a lot. I hope you like this Psychosis Fluff. I did my best. If you guys want something in particular explained or played out, go ahead and tell me. I'll take requests. I'm not going to write lemons. Sorry guys, still living at home and using the family computer to write. I just... can't risk it. In two years, yeah, sure. Whatevs.**

**Hope you like, please read and review. If you like this, read Psychosis. That is... if you haven't already. Probably should've read that first, if I'm honest.**

**O)_(O**


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